


Collared and Bound

by DragonOfChanges



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels as Slaves, Angry Castiel (Supernatural), Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Branding, Corporal Punishment, Human Castiel, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Grace, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters, Mute Castiel, Punishment, Scared Castiel, Slavery, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonOfChanges/pseuds/DragonOfChanges
Summary: Thanks to the BMoL, Angels have been brought to heel, and are now a slave race. Any angel on earth must have a Handler, and wear a collar. Most angels retreated to Heaven when the ability to control them was discovered, but a few are not welcome there, and a few choose to stay, for reasons of their own. This is their story.





	1. Collared

**Author's Note:**

> Tags may shift as we go, so be sure to heed them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the once mighty have fallen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited.

Dean paced the length of the small waiting room he had been shown to in preparation for the Collaring Ceremony. It held several very comfortable chairs, but he ignored them. There was no way he could relax. Not yet. This was wrong. So very wrong. He was about to take ownership of another living being. Of an Angel. Of Castiel. The fact that doing so was the only way to keep him safe, to keep him from the hands of those who would use and abuse him did not make it any less abhorrent. It made it worse. This was Cas. His friend. His brother in arms. His…

The door opened, and Castiel, Angel of the Lord was shoved roughly in by two burly guards. The “holy tax accountant” outfit was gone, he now wore only the loose white drawstring pants of a slave. His wrists bore cuffs of thick metal, seamless, etched with the Enochian runes that bound his Grace and left him unable to smite, to fly, or to heal even himself. The cuffs were linked together by a thick, short chain. On his left shoulder was a brand, half healed and still angry red. It was the Aquarian Star, symbol of the Men of Letters. This was his mark, his identification as an angel, and now as a slave. He looked thinner, drawn. Dark circles ringed his eyes. Half healed cuts and bruises stood out on his now pale skin. His eyes were dull, his demeanor subdued. He seemed a shadow of the powerful being he had once been. He looked fragile. Almost…human. He stood, eyes downcast, where the guards had left him before they retreated to the doorway. Dean ceased his pacing, coming to stand in front of the smaller man.

As Dean stopped before him, Cas dropped heavily to his knees, his eyes on the floor. Dean flinched at the reaction. This was an Angel, no, this was Cas, kneeling at his feet. Seeing him like this…tears came to Deans eyes, and he ducked his head to hide them from the watchers, and from the angel himself. He wanted to pull Cas up, to hug him tightly and tell him everything was going to be ok, that he was going to take care of him, but the guards’ eyes were on them. The only way to keep Cas safe was to play his role as the slave owner, as Cas was playing his own. It WAS only a role, wasn’t it? Dean ignored the kneeling angel, and resumed his pacing.

\------------------------------------

All Angels who were Earth bound were now required to have a human Handler. A Master. Any Angel found without the collar of their owner was subject to immediate execution, for the “safety” of humans. Most angels had retreated to Heaven when the environment became hostile, when the British Men of Letters introduced magic that would immediately subdue any Angel, Archangel, or Nephilim on the Earthly plane. This was done to prevent any more human deaths at angelic hands. After the birth of Lucifer’s son, and his subsequent rampage with his freed father, it was deemed necessary. But now both Lucifer and his offspring were dead, and most of the angels had fled. The ones that stayed were those who were not welcome in Heaven, and a few who stayed by choice, for reasons of their own. Most of these were quickly captured and collared, but a few free angels remained. Until very recently, Castiel had been one of these.

\--------------------------------------

He could speak to the angel, he just needed to be careful of his words. He could still let him know that it was going to be ok. They just had to get through the next hour, and then he and Sam and Cas could return home to the bunker. To normal life. Well, as normal as their lives ever got. He strode up to the still kneeling angel and pulled him roughly to his feet. Grabbing him by the arms, he shook the angel.

“I hope you are grateful for my mercy, Castiel. I took great effort to acquire you, even after all you had done. They wanted to execute you, but I couldn’t let that be. I wanted you to be mine. Only mine. I wanted no other hands to harm you.” His voice was harsh, but he hoped that Cas would look up at him, would see the real meaning of his words in his eyes.

Cas heard the pain in the green eyed mans’ voice. He reached up and touched the stubble covered cheek gently in a familiar gesture. Flinching, he suddenly remembered himself. Remembered who, and what he now was. He quickly dropped back to his knees, eyes downcast. A slave did not make eye contact. Did not touch unasked. Ever. To do so brought swift punishment. That is what he was now. A slave. Property. Nothing. His voice was quiet as he spoke to the man who would soon own him.

“I understand, Dean, that this is hard for you. I understand that you are angry with me, that you probably hate me, and I do not blame you. But thank you for agreeing to this.” He bowed lower, his head nearly touching the floor, resting on the triangle of his hands, the pose of obeisance he had been taught.

“Thank you for taking this poor, wretched being into your home, Master.” Dean flinched inwardly at the angel’s words. At his gestures. His heart was quietly breaking. He didn’t want this. Not from Cas. Not from anyone. Dean pulled Cas back up to his knees. He put a gentle hand on the angels shoulder. Time for the tough questions. 

”So, tell me, what happened when you were…away this past month? They wouldn’t let me see you, even after I signed the papers taking you into my care. Said you had to be ‘re-educated’ before I could have you.” Cas closed his eyes, the memories coming fast and hard. Blood. Cold. Darkness. Searing heat. Pain. Shame. He shook his head.

“You really don’t want to know” he said softly. One of the guards re-entered the room.

“Showtime” He chirped as he gestured for the pair to proceed him. Dean sighed, and squared his shoulders.

“Let’s get this over with” He turned and strode from the room, Cas rising and taking his place behind and to the left, as he had been taught. The guard followed behind, whistling a happy tune. Dean very much wanted to punch him in the nose.

\-----------------

They were led down a long hallway, and out into a secluded courtyard paved in old stone. Ringed around the courtyards edges were various government officials and representatives from the Men of Letters, here to see that the collaring ritual binding angel to owner was done correctly. Sam stood next to the small table at the center, on which sat a brass bowl, a silver knife, various herbs. And a collar. Sam’s face was blank, emotionless, but Dean knew that he detested this, as much as Dean did. But whatever it took to keep his family-to keep Cas safe, Sam would do. For Dean, and for Cas as well.

Dean had hated picking out the collar. There had been many choices, in many styles and colors. Everything from a basic chain to a tight fitting torture device with spikes set inward. Collars that bound the wearer’s chin high. Ones that delivered an electric shock. In the end, he’d chosen a simple slim leather collar in green, with a single O ring in the front meant for a leash. Not that he’d use it after today. But it was classy without being overdone. It suited Cas. As much as any symbol of slavery could, anyways...

Reaching the center of the circle, he gave Sam a nod. He turned and faced Cas where he’d fallen to his knees. Putting a hand on the head of the angel, he spoke to the crowd in the words of the ritual.

“Today I take this angel, this beast, into my care. I will provide for his safety, his well being, and his training. He will be obedient and meek, pliant to my will. He will look to me in all things. His only wish shall be to please me.” He looked down at Cas. 

“Throat.” he commanded. Castiel tilted his bowed head to the side, exposing his neck. Dean picked up the knife from the table and with a look of apology that the angel did not see, made a careful, shallow cut on the angel’s neck. A slow trickle of blood and grace flowed from the wound, which Dean quickly cleaned off with a small cloth square from the table. 

“Your blood, your Grace to bind you to my will.” He tossed the cloth into the bowl, where Sam had put measured amounts of herbs and other spell components. Sam lit a match, and tossed it into the bowl as Dean spoke.

“Castiel, Seraphim, your life now belongs to me, to do with as I please. From this moment, until I cease to be, you have no will, no thought of your own.Your only needs are mine.” He looked down at the messy head of dark hair beneath him, at the bowed head. Smoke from the burning herbs wreathed it, looking like a halo. He reached over and took the collar from the table. Gently, reverently, he fastened it around the angel’s neck. Cas shuddered, then stilled.

”Many owners rename their charges to signify their ownership. I name you Clarence.” Sam gave Dean a small smirk, remembering that Meg had called him that. He thought he was so funny...He wondered if Cas...Clarence ever truly understood the humor of the name.

“Clarence.” The slave repeated.

“Leash” Dean commanded. Cas again tilted his head, and Dean affixed the short leash he carried to the collars’ ring. 

“Up.” He gave a small tug on the leash, bringing the obedient slave to his feet. Looking at Sam, he gave a tired sigh. There was a second brand to be given, but that wasn’t required at this time, though some Masters did it at the time of collaring to assert their authority. To have everyone see their slave, a once mighty angel, scream. But Dean was tired. He’d take care of that once they were home.

“Let’s go home, Sammy.” He turned and walked out the door, Clarence behind and to his left, his moose of a brother bringing up the rear.

Clarence’s manacles were unchained at the exit but the cuffs were still on, and would remain so. When they got into the Impala, Dean turned to Cas, with concern in his eyes.

“Is that collar hurting?”He asked, turning to see the smaller man in the backseat.

“No, it's surprisingly comfortable. It was a good choice.” Cas replied sounding closer to normal. Dean cleared his throat as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway of the new Men Of Letters headquarters.

“I want you to know that in public, for your own safety, you will have to act the slave but when we are at the bunker, just be yourself, okay? You’re family, and this,” He said, reaching back and tugging on the collar ring “changes nothing.” Dean told him firmly.

“I will try, Ma… I will try, Dean.” Cas replied.

“And what’s with the pajama pants? You must be freezing,” Dean asked. 

“I’m fine. Even with my grace bound, I don’t feel the cold as much as a human would. But thank you for your concern. This is what all slaves in training are given to wear. They are easy to remove for...punishment.” Cas replied, cringing at the thought of what he had endured at the hands of the Men of Letters.

“You’re not my slave, you understand that, don’t you? I only did this to keep you safe, to keep you with me...us.” Dean told him. 

“Technically, I am. All earthbound angels are now no more than the property of the beings that they helped create. Our time to rule, to lead, has passed.” He said sadly. "But thank you for not letting me get put into rougher, crueler hands."

“Cas…” Dean said his name with hopelessness. 

“Besides, Dean, after all I’ve done to hurt mankind, and my own kind...after all I’ve done to hurt you and Sam, this is no less than I deserve. But I will do my best for you, and for Sam.” Sam cringed at the mention of his name. He wanted no part of ownership of another being. Period.

“If we all got what we deserved, Cas none of us would exist,” Dean replied. “None of us are angels, not even the Angels.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“You make a good point. But this is as it is now. Through my...retraining, I have come to accept it. And I still don’t understand who Clarence is.” He said, with a puzzled head tilt.

Dean laughed almost happily at that, but it was short lived. “Well, we've all been through hell, so let’s just make the best of this,” Dean said. 

“And we have a movie to watch when we get home. I’m surprised that Metatron’s information download missed that one.” Added Sam.

\-------------

After driving for a little while, Dean pulled into a diner and got out. It was only when Cas remained in the car that he realized just how difficult this was going to be. “Come on, Clarence.”

Cas got slowly out of the car, clearly nervous about being out in public even though he was now collared. He fell into place at Deans left as they approached the door. They got as far as the diner door when the man behind the counter called out. 

“He can’t come in here.” He yelled, pointing at the collared angel. Dean nearly lost it but Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest to stop him from jumping the counter and pummeling the man.

“Wait in the car, both of you. I’ll get this,” Sam said, shoving Dean back towards Baby. Cas followed a still fuming Dean back out to the car, and got into the backseat only after Dean had taken his place behind the wheel.

“How can we fix this?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know, Dean. Does it really need fixing? I know that being what I am makes me less in human eyes. But, once, I looked upon all of you like that…No, it isn’t fair, or right, but my Father never guaranteed fairness. As you said, we’ll just have to ’make the best of it’” He replied, using air quotes, much to Dean’s amusement. THIS was the quirky angel that Dean was so fond of!

Sam returned shortly with their food, and they made their way back to the Bunker. The next problem came when they went to sit at the table to eat. Cas looked nervous, unsure of himself. Dean snapped at him.

“Will you sit the fuck down, Cas. We are alone. No one is going to see.”The angel looked down.

“I can’t. I’m...not allowed. I was taught that my place…” Sam, seeing Cas’ panic begin to rise, took the initiative, and brought several pillows from the nearby couch. He set them on the floor, at Dean’s left. Cas seated himself gracefully on the cushions, giving Sam a grateful look.

“There. Now, let’s eat.” Sam said, returning to his place at the table.

Dean picked up his food and sat down on the cushions next to Cas. Cas looked at him wide eyed for a moment, but then smiled softly, glad for the company of the green eyed hunter.

“Do I have to make it an order that you eat with us?” Dean asked. “I guess you are going to have to train me how to act in public.” Cas shook his head and chuckled at that. Someone training the great Hunter, Dean Winchester.

“I’ll do my best to help you adjust. Apparently owners aren’t as well schooled as the owned.” He quipped.

“Mostly I was just warned that if you don’t toe the line or I don’t punish you for doing something wrong I might lose you.” Dean replied.

“You could use a protocol class then. I’ll run you through everything I was taught during the last month, this afternoon. You should know exactly what to punish me for, if I make a mistake.“ He said between bites of his sandwich.

“Good idea,” Sam said as he joined them on the floor. “But I think we should keep up the pretense even in the bunker. Any member of the Men of Letters can walk in here at any time. It will also keep us from slipping up in public.”

“I agree. You may also want to get in some practice with the implements of punishment. If I slip up, you need to know how to wield them.” He said, his face devoid of emotion.

“No way,” Dean said. “I draw the line at that.” 

“If you don’t, If my skin is never marked, they will know something is amiss and may try to take me from you.” Cas pointed out.

“They’ll just think I like to punish you in private.” Cas looked down, his training coming to the forefront, again.

“A slave’s punishment must be immediate, to correct misbehavior before it can be repeated.” He parroted the words that he had heard so many times during his re-programming.

“Then you had better not do anything to get punished for,” Dean told him. 

“I’ll do my best, Dean, and I know you will as well.” Cas reached out as he always did to put his hand reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder but stopped before he touched Dean. Dean took the angels hand, and placed it on his shoulder as he smiled softly.

“You never need to be afraid to touch me when it’s just us. It’s ok.” His voice was gentle.

“Angels are born to obey, Dean. Now that humans are our masters we instinctively obey the rules they give us. My rules say that I cannot touch my...Master without his command to do so.”

“Well, MY command is that it’s ok. We humans need to touch, and to be touched. No matter how much we may think otherwise.” He said with a sheepish look. He'd never been comfortable with displays of affection, but this was Cas. If Cas needed the touch-the connection-Dean would be there for him, his own hang ups be damned!


	2. Claiming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean brands what's his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has now been edited.

They’d been back at the Bunker for nearly two weeks when Sam finally got the courage up to approach his brother about a very touchy subject. Dean was sitting in the well stocked kitchen. He’d just made a ham and swiss sandwich and opened a beer, his first of the day. Sam sat down at the table across from him, and cleared his throat. The older hunter looked up, only to see his “little” brothers almost apologetic expression. Here it comes, he thought. 

“Whats up, Sammy?” He asked, though he already knew exactly what was on Sam’s mind.

“Dean, I know you don’t want this, but we need to get it done soon, before the Men of Letters make an unannounced visit.” He knew it!. He didn’t say a word, just glared at his younger sibling until he looked away. Sam sighed, his shoulders slumped.

“Ok, fine.If you can’t do it, I will." He rose and turned toward the dungeon to prepare the tools for Castiels second Branding, the one that marked him as Deans property. Collars could be removed, but as long as the angels’ Grace was bound, the brand would remain. Dean grabbed Sam’s arm as he went by. He knew damn well that it had to be done. That didn’t mean he had to like it. He huffed as he tossed down his sandwich and got up from the table. He grabbed his beer.

“No, Sam. I’ll do it. This is my responsibility.” He said curtly. ”Bring Cas to the dungeon in half an hour.” Dean strode off, heart heavy, to make everything ready. Sam grabbed the abandoned sandwich, and went to find the angel.

\-----------------------

The coals in the brazier were white hot, and the iron in them glowed brightly. Dean had designed the brand himself, and had it custom made. It was his initials, DW, flanked by a pair of wings. Sam had rolled his eyes when he saw it.

“Flying W? How original." He had quipped. Then his eyes lit up. " We went there once on a case, remember?”

“Yeah, that touristy ranch that we ganked the cowboy ghosts at in Colorado.” Dean replied.

“Yeah. Then you cleared out the chow line. You were gassy for a week after that.” Sam wrinkled his nose at the memory.

Dean double checked that everything was ready. He made sure that the bowl of herbal salve, a thick reddish paste, was close so that he could quickly soothe the burn he would inflict. Given a choice, he’d rather take the brand himself than cause Cas any more pain than he’d already endured. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even sedate the poor angel. The session had to be recorded, and the ritual required the slave to be conscious for the ordeal. To be aware of who was taking ownership of him. Dean thought it was more likely that the Old Men just got off on seeing angels tortured. He would film, but only long enough for the Men Of Letters to see that the ugly deed had been done. He would NOT exploit Cas’ pain.

Soon enough, Sam entered with Cas walking before him. The angels eyes went wide at the sight of the fire, at the too familiar smell of the coals and hot iron. The sense of panic was short lived, though, and was quickly replaced with feelings of anger and with resignation. Sighing, he removed the loose shirt that the boys had given him and tossed it to the floor. Standing there bare chested, with the implements of his marking at hand, the wrongness of it all washed over him. That he, a mighty Angel of the Lord, should be made helpless. That one of God's soldiers should be branded like a common beast-twice-by the very creatures he was sworn to love and protect! His anger swelled, and he turned to face Dean. His sky blue eyes glowed slightly brighter with bound grace.

“OK. Lets finish this, then. Brand me and make me yours, Masters.” He sneered, looking at both men. Sam flinched and looked away, ashamed. Dean’s eyes narrowed at the angel’s harsh tone. Damn it! This was the last thing Dean wanted! Didn’t Cas understand why he was doing this? Didn’t he understand that there was no other choice here-no better option when the Men Of Letters were breathing down their necks? Eyes full of sadness, he looked at his friend.

“Cas. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to… I wish things were different...” his voice faded.

“Just do it.” Cas glared at his owner, eyes steely, voice hard. Dean swallowed and nodded once. Sam spoke up.

“Cas, it might be better if you...” He looked down. Cas fell to his knees bowing his head in defeat. Dean sighed and hit the record button on the camera remote. He gripped the iron’s handle and pulled it from the coals. With an apologetic look that neither the camera nor the angel caught, he spoke the words of the rite.

“I brand what belongs to me. I give you my mark, Clarence. I make you mine, that none may take you from me without good cause.” He paused, remembering the handprint that Cas had marked him with when he pulled him out of Hell. It had vanished when Cas had healed him after Sam’s swan dive at Stull Cemetery. This would not fade, for as long as the angel remained bound. The irony of it the hunter could have done without. He turned his mind back to the task at hand.

“Stay still.” Cas didn’t reply, but kept his eyes on the floor, his breathing steady as he tried to relax. He’d been through this before, at the beginning of his “training”, and knew very well how intense the pain was going to be. He flinched only slightly as Dean gripped with one hand just above the first brand, then brought the iron down on the angels skin just below the Men Of Letters mark. There was the sudden acrid smell of singed flesh.The ringing howl of pain and rage torn from the angel’s lips hurt the ears of both men. That howl would have deafened them if Cas’ Grace hadn’t been muted by the cuffs he wore. Despite the pain, Cas didn’t try to pull away. Dean held the iron firmly in place for the required five seconds before removing it. As he turned to set the iron back in the coals, Cas slumped, and Sam barely caught him before he hit the concrete floor. Dean hit the stop button on the camera and rushed to his side, panicked. Sam held the limp form in his arms.

“Whoa, Cas, you ok, buddy?” The angel looked up at the green eyed hunter, unable to focus. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the darkness took him.

\------------------------------  


Cas awoke tucked snugly under the covers of Dean’s bed. He groaned, and Sam looked up from the bedside chair where he’d been reading a book on Enochian runes and spellwork. He was seeking a way to break the hold that the cuffs had on the angel’s Grace so that Cas could help them on their hunts and heal them if they were hurt.

“Cas! It’s about time! Dean and I were starting to get worried.” The angel looked over at the shaggy haired hunter.

“Sam? How long have I been out?” He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and winced at the pain from his bandaged left shoulder. Sam put a hand on his arm to still him and keep him from causing himself any more agony.

“Almost a full day.” He started to get up. “You want me to get Dean? He went for a quick nap. He’s been here almost the whole time, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so I sent him off to sleep in your room.” Cas pulled him back down to his seat.

“No, let him sleep." Sam put a hand on the smaller man’s arm. Looking at the bandages, he hesitated, removing the hand.

“I’m so sorry that we had to do that to you.” He nodded at the branded shoulder. Cas eyes went cold, and he looked away

"I understand. It's part of being a slave." He shrugged, and winced at the pain from the new brand.

"Cas..." Sam said softly. Cas closed his eyes.

"I'm tired, Sam. I'll be okay on my own now. Thank you for staying with me." Sam, knowing he'd been dismissed, got up and left the room, pausing at the door for a moment to peek back at the angel. He closed the door quietly, leaning on it for a moment to collect himself before talking to Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure just when Cas' handprint vanished from Dean's shoulder, so I kinda "winged" it.  
> Yes, the Flying W is a real place. Unfortunately, it was destroyed by a wildfire a few years back, but is being rebuilt and is scheduled to reopen in the summer of 2107!! The food is wonderful,  
> and the entertainment is tops!!  
> OK, where would YOU like to see it go from here? Ideas in the comments, please!!


	3. I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the second branding, and a little hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This replaces the previous "non-chapter".

Sam was leaning on the doorframe to Dean’s temporary room, sipping on the organic root beer he’d picked up at the farmers market a few days before.

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. He’s really mad. He practically told me to fuck off. That's not like him. I think maybe that this...was the last straw with us.” The younger hunters eyes clearly showed his concern for their relationship with Cas, and the guilt over recent events.

"What if...what if he hates us now? What if we broke our friendship? If we broke him?" Dean gave his little brother a reassuring smile.

“ He's not broken, Sammy. I’ll talk to him. Let’s just give him a little space. I’m sure that was terrible for him, but I’ll explain. He’s got to realize why I did it, that I had no other choice.” Groaning, he put his head in his hands. Too little sleep and too much booze was catching up with him, fast. Sleeping, or trying to, on one of the old dead guy mattresses wasn’t helping any. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache at once. He missed his memory foam. Sam looked unconvinced of his brothers ability to fix this situation.

“ All right, Dean." He sighed. "Well, on a good note, I may have discovered a way to power down the spell on the cuffs that Cas is wearing, and get his mojo back online, but maybe It’d be better to wait to try it until he’s in a better mood.“ Dean looked up. 

“Yeah, good idea. I don't wanna get smote by Angry Bird, there. Like I said a long time ago, don’t piss off the nerd angels.” Sam laughed.

“Good advice.”

\--------------------

Dean drew a deep breath, and knocked on Cas door. When he got no response, he opened it slowly, peeking into the dimly lit space.

“Can I come in, Cas?” He called softly.

“It’s your room, Master.” Cas deadpanned from where he sat on the bed, reading. Dean suddenly decided that he’d had just about enough of this whole fucked up situation.

“OK Cas, cut the crap. I came to explain, and to apologise.” He snapped.

“For what? Marking your property?” Cas returned. He sat up and turned to face Dean in the doorway, his feelings of betrayal obvious in his eyes.

“ Do you understand how much that hurt, and not just physically? For an angel to be a slave, a lesser being, is bad enough." He tugged on the ring of his collar to emphasize his point.

"But to be marked in such a way, twice...it’s humiliating. What made it infinitely worse was that it was you and Sam doing it to me this time. I was overjoyed when I learned, after my training, that it was you who had spoken for me. I knew that you would never hurt me...“ He looked up, eyes flashing. 

“I thought we were friends, Dean. Family. I guess I was wrong.” Dean stepped closer, wanting to reach out and touch the angel, but not quite daring. Cas continued.

“ I was told, during training, that it would happen. That my new owner would mark me as his. Brand me, again. I thought that...that you and Sam could find some way around it. I never thought you’d actually DO it…” Dean’s voice was soft.

“I had no choice. The Men of Letters would have taken you from me if I didn’t brand you, and I had to videotape the damn branding as proof! I did it, all of it, to keep you safe, Cas. To keep what’s left of our family together. Moms gone, again. Bobby, Charlie, Jo and Ellen, Dad.. all gone. I can’t lose you too. Not again. I...need you...here with me, Cas.” Doubt brewed in the angels deep blue eyes. Dean’s voice took on a note of desperation.

“Cas, you have to believe me, I didn’t WANT it! I wish there had been another way. We spent every minute since we got home trying to FIND one that would fool the Brits. Tattoos, spells, hell, we even tried summoning Crowley and Rowena for help. They never showed. So we had to do the deed before the Brits became suspicious and stepped in and took you. I guess we failed. I failed...you. I’m so sorry.” Dean hung his head in shame. In that moment, realization dawned within the angel. Dean truly cared about him. Dean wanted him there, wanted him safe, and was willing to make the hard choices to see that it happened. Cas was...family. He stepped up and gently, tentatively, cupped the hunters face in his hands.

“No, Dean, I’m the one who should be apologizing. You did what you had to, because you care about me. I’m being ungrateful to the man who kept me from hell on Earth. Who saved me from execution, or worse. Thank you, Dean. I forgive you for branding me.” A single tear slipped down Dean’s cheek. Dammit, here he was acting like a teenage girl, yet again. What WAS it about this angel…?

“Thanks, Cas.” He whispered. The angel nodded, and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the one he had gripped on the journey out of Hell.

“So...we’ve each branded the other with our mark, rescued each other from perdition. What now?” Cas asked. Dean looked at where Cas hand rested and chuckled.

“I guess now we’re...even, huh?” He smiled. “I kinda miss the handprint, truthfully…For now, we work on getting those cuffs powered down. Sam came across something that we may be able to do the job, if we modify the spells wording. We can give you your mojo back.”

“I’ll need to appear to still be bound and marked, though. If it's found that I’m not, this time there will be no mercy. I’ll be executed immediately. I can’t let that happen. I’m not leaving you again. I....need you, too, Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, I know. Sorry.


	4. About Protocol, and Stanford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys learn how to be Masters, and we learn a bit about Sams college days.

The boys sat with Cas in the Bunkers dungeon. It seemed the most appropriate place for him to teach them the ins and outs of protocol for their new…slave. It'd been a few days since the second branding, and Dean had asked if Cas felt up to teaching them how to be “good” owners, before they went out in public together. Until then, one of them had been doing supply runs while the other kept Cas company. Dean thought that would be nice if they could all be out together, even if a lot of places weren’t very Angel friendly. A tall post, with ropes looped through the metal ring at its top, lurked on its wide wooden stand in one corner of the small space. Near it, on a low table, four items sat, for now ignored.

“It all comes down to a few basic rules. A slave doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He does not make eye contact with a human. He never touches a human-even his Master-without permission. He never raises his hand in anger to any human. He never calls his Master by his given name. He always addresses him as Master, or Sir. He walks behind and to the left at all times, unless doing so is impossible. Then he walks directly behind. If Master is stopped for more than thirty seconds, the slave assumes the kneel position. The leash is always attached to the collar in public, unless the Master has him doing some task out of leash range.“ Cas’ voice dropped. “A good slave tries hard to anticipate the needs of his Master, before he even knows what he wants. A slave’s needs are secondary to his Owners, and his wants are of no import.” Dean stared at Cas for a long moment, trying to process the information. Trying to reconcile this new, meek creature with the angel that had once been a soldier, a badass warrior of God. Cas continued.

“Of course, outside of those few rules, a Master is free to create his own behavior protocols. Any infraction of the rules must be swiftly punished, especially in public. Not to do so is seen as the mark of a lax owner.” Dean glared at the angel.

“And if I just wanted to scrap all these bullshit rules?” Cas looked at Dean, not quite meeting his eyes..

“Not advisable. The Men of Letters would see you as incapable, and take me from you. I would probably be executed.” Dean huffed.

“Fine. I’ll play by their rules, to keep you safe. Doesn’t mean I gotta like it.” Cas nodded and continued.

“Now for the punishment part. A Master generally carries two items at all times. The first is a Goad. Its like a cattle prod, and has different settings. It is used to deter or subdue an unruly or rebellious slave.” He touched a scar on his forearm, and shuddered with the memory it evoked. “It is rarely used on a well trained slave. The second is a Whip. This is for punishing a slave who breaks the rules. There are a set number of strokes for each infraction, but a Master may always add more. Aim is important, as a Master never wants to injure his slave to the point that he is unable to serve.”

Cas got up from his place on the floor and went to the low table, picking up the two Goads. About three and a half feet in length, the thick metal rods ended in a tapered tip wrapped in thin wire. Two buttons were placed halfway between the padded grip and the tip. He handed one to each Winchester. Dean looked as if the thing were a snake, about to bite him. He held it gingerly.

“The power button is the large one, and the smaller controls the settings.” He removed two small oranges from the pockets of his loose pants and set them on the floor. “Ok, turn them on.“ Both boys hit the power switch, and the prods came on with a low hum. Dean grinned.

“Cool. Like a light saber.” He swung his prod around, doing his best Obi Wan impression. Sam ducked out of the way with a yell.

“HEY! Careful with that!” Dean glared at his brother, but stopped swinging. There was a whimper from below them, and they both looked down to find Cas huddled at their feet, his arms over his head, face to the floor. Dean handed his prod to Sam, and knelt down, placing a gentle hand on Cas trembling back. Low keening noises came from the captive angel.

“God, Cas. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.“ He rubbed small gentle circles on Cas back. Eventually, Cas calmed and became silent. The trembling took longer to subside. Finally, with an embarrassed sigh, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Dean could see the tears still in his eyes. His voice was low, unsteady.

“Apologies. I ….” Sam interrupted.

“None needed. Gee, Cas, what did they do to you during that month?” Cas shuddered. His face suddenly became stony, and he glared at the hunters.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said brusquely. “What matters is that you understand what your tools can do. Sam, put your Goad on setting two.” Sam handed Deans Goad back to him, and pushed the button on his to the requested level.

“Now, use it on the orange. A stabbing motion, as you would a dagger.” Sam stabbed at the orange. When the Goad made contact, there was a popping noise, and the orange jumped off the floor. Both boy’s eyes went wide. Dean gave a low whistle. The orange now had a small dark mark on its peel

“Again. Level three.” Sam adjusted his setting and again stabbed at the innocent citrus. It jumped further off the floor this time, and the mark on its skin was darker and larger. There was the scent of burned orange peel in the air.

“Dean. Level six. Full power.” Dean hesitated, but a steely glare from Cas set him in motion. He turned the setting up to the highest level. The hum from the prod was loud in the nearly empty room. He stabbed gingerly at the remaining orange. There was a loud pop, and the orange exploded, spraying the older hunter with juice and pulp. Both Winchesters stood silently for a long moment, eyes wide.

“And that is why you do not swing it around like a toy.” Said a soft voice from behind them. Cas had stepped to safety, knowing full well what would happen. Dean quickly switched his Goad off and set it back on the table, Sam following suit. Dean muttered an apology.

“Its ok, Dean, but you needed to know the power you held.” He turned, taking the two whips off of the table. They measured about six feet from end to tip, and terminated in a single, cruel, tail. “Now for the whips. Have either of you ever used one before?” Dean shook his head. Sam looked at the ground, his face crimson. Deans eyes narrowed at his little brothers reaction.

“Care to share with the class, Sammy?” Sam ducked his head, turning away from his brother.

“Stanford” he muttered.

“I didn’t quite hear that. Wanna repeat it?” He looked at Sam.

“Stanford. I learned while I was at Stanford, ok?” His blush deepened.

“What, they have a medieval weapons class there?” Sam sighed. Dean wouldn’t quit until he got the whole story.

“No. There was this place, a club. Off campus. I learned there.” Deans eyebrows shot up, and a smirk came to his lips.

“A club? You mean…a kink club?“ He asked

“Yes, Dean, a kink club. I met people there who taught me a lot of things. Using a whip was among them.” Dean barked out a laugh.

“So…you were…a Dom?” Sam looked up into Deans grinning face. He was surprised that his brother even knew the term, much less what it meant.

“Yes.” Deans grin got wider.

“Did you have a slave of your own, or is Cas here your first?” Sam shot his brother an angry look.

“I had a submissive, Dean. There’s a difference. A slave is owned. Property. A submissive kneels because he wants to. I had a submissive. He and I scened together once or twice a week for almost a year, before I met Jess.

“A year. Wow.” Dean paused “Wait a minute, HE?”

“Yes, he.” Sam could barely hold his brothers gaze. 

“Were you and he…you know…?” Dean made a rough gesture.

“Intimate? Yes.” Dean shook his head. He’d never known, never even suspected. Not that it mattered. Sam was his brother, and he’d love him no matter what. He just wondered if he’d missed the signs. Living in close quarters for so long, shouldn’t there have been something? Dean brought his attention back to Sam, who was waiting for Deans reaction.

“My little brother bats for both teams. OK. Cool, I guess.“ Dean said softly. Sam blushed, again, relaxing. Dean had decided to have mercy on him, for now, and turned back to the subject at hand. He was sure that they would be having a long talk. Soon.

“So most of this, the rules and stuff, is just review for you.” Dean said. 

“Kind of. I’m learning Cas protocols, instead of him learning mine. There are a lot of similarities.” Sam replied.  
While the boys had been discussing Sams Stanford secret, Cas had dragged the post on its stand out into the middle of the room. He had tied a dummy, made of the boys clothes stuffed with pillows, to the rings in the top. He cleared his throat to get the boys attention.

“Sam, since you have…experience in this, you can go first, and help your brother learn.” The next hour was spent with Sam teaching Dean how to aim with the whip, technique, and where to hit- and not hit- on a slave’s body for maximum effect. By the end of the session, Deans arms and shoulders were sore, but he felt confident that he could wield the weapon without causing permanent damage to his angel. Still. It was the last thing that he wanted to do. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual non ownership stuff...


	5. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has a price, including freedom...

Two weeks passed, quietly, for the trio….and then...

 

Dean and Cas had just arrived home from a grocery run. Leaving his purchases in the back seat, Dean stormed down the stairs from the garage and into the Bunkers library, shaking with anger. Cas followed, staying further back than was customary. Spotting his little brother at his usual place at the tables, the hunter strode over and slammed his hands onto the tabletop near the shaggy haired man, startling Sam from his reverie at his computer. Sam shot him a bitchface. Dean removed his goad and whip from his belt, and tossed them onto the table in disgust. 

“What the fuck, Dude?” Dean glared back at him.

“Dammit Sammy, we need those cuffs off Cas like, yesterday. What’s the fucking holdup?” He paced back and forth across the room several times as Sam watched, his eyebrows raised. What had Dean in such a foul mood? They had just gone for groceries…? He looked to the angel, but Cas simply stared vacantly at his feet, apparently lost inside himself. Finding no answers there, Sam finally replied to Dean, hoping that humor was the key to diffusing his brothers wrath. He smiled.

“I’m nearly done, Dean. Just a few more ingredients to gather together. What’s got your panties in a bunch all of a sudden, anyway?” he quipped. Dean turned and glared at his younger sibling again, his eyes narrowed. Sam’s smile vanished. Nope. Wrong answer. Dean growled, and flopped into the chair across from Sam.

“Today I had to watch a good angel be punished because of the stupid rules. Watch, and do nothing about it.” He huffed out a breath. Sam waited patiently for an explanation. The older hunter sighed. “While we were shopping, a man attempted to kidnap a child from the store. An angel rescued the kid, and detained the kidnapper until the cops arrived. THEN, because the angel technically broke the behavior rules, HE was punished! More lashes than I wanted to count, right there in public! It scared Cas so bad that I practically had to carry him to the car. We were nearly home before he stopped shaking. I hate seeing him so...helpless.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.”I sure as hell don’t ever want to punish him like that, especially not for doing what’s right! I don’t want him unable to defend himself, if someone else tries to.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“I understand, Dean. I almost have the counterspell ready. But I think we should do this away from the Bunker to avoid tripping any alarms the Men of Letters may have set. The last thing we need is them showing up and taking him. Once he’s freed, he should be able to regulate himself well enough to fool them into thinking he’s still bound” Dean grunted, and signaled Cas to follow him.

“Agreed. We’ll head out tomorrow morning. I know just the place. Go get packed, Sammy.” He strode off to retrieve the groceries from the Impala, Cas in tow.

 

Eighteen hours later found them at an old, well warded cabin that had often served as a Hunters refuge. One that the Brits didn’t know existed, they hoped. They settled in quickly, heading right to bed. Tomorrow they would begin the quest to remove Cas cuffs and restore him to full power.

____________________________________________________

 

Both Winchesters were tired, and very frustrated. Sam put his aching head in his hands. They’d been at this since sunrise, with no success. The sun had set over an hour ago. Sam’s voice was soft, almost defeated.

“I don’t understand. I’ve tried every variation of the counterspell. The only thing that happened is that now the runes glow red. If we go back, it’ll trip the bunker wards for sure!” His voice rose in panic, as he shook with tears of rage and shame. “We can’t go home, Dean. Ever. They’ll take Cas. Or they’ll track us here, and kill him, and us as well. I’m so sorry Cas, Dean. I must have screwed it up.” His tears spilled over, rolling down his cheeks. Cas placed a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder as Dean gathered his brother in and held him tight.

“Its ok, Sammy. You did your best. You didn’t screw it up. It didn’t work as planned, that’s all.” Sam shook his head. Cas spoke up.

“You did everything you could, Sam. Thank you.” The angel paused looking hesitant. “I didn’t want to mention it, but I think you both have overlooked the obvious, last possible solution.” Both boys gave him a puzzled look. Cas continued, his hand still squeezing Sam’s shoulder in an effort to calm him, as Dean rubbed small circles on his back.

“If I had no Grace, if it was cut out-” He looked at Dean ”- I’d be human. I’d be free. The cuffs would be rendered useless to hold me. You two could return home safely. Tell them I escaped. Without my Grace, it’ll be difficult for them to find me. I would follow, later, when and if I could. However, stripping my Grace from my vessel while wearing dampening cuffs may have some unforeseen side effects. It’s dangerous, but it’s the only way left for us, any of us, to possibly survive.” Sam’s voice became panicky once more. He backed away from the angel, out of his brothers hold.

“Remove your Grace? Are you kidding? How dangerous? What side effects? Could you...die?” he asked, wide eyed. Dean stood and put a hand on the angels shoulder. He shook his head.

“There’s no way we’re leaving without you, angel or human, Cas” He added angrily. “You’re family. No one gets left behind.” Cas looked at his friends….his family. With a sense of relief, He made the choice, for himself and for them.

“We need to hurry and get it done, then. Before an alert gets to the Men of Letters that the cuffs have been tampered with. I don’t know what it could do, and at this point it doesn’t matter. It could kill me, yes, but there IS NO other option available and no time to find one. Its either risk it, or be taken and executed. I won’t let that happen, not to any of us. We’ll figure everything else out, after.” Dean sighed, resigned to yet another iffy solution to a difficult problem.

“Ok, so how do we do this?” He asked. Castiel handed Dean the Angel blade that was kept with his gear, and a small rune covered vial. He’d come prepared for this possibility.

“With this.” Dean looked at him, hesitant.

“Are you sure?” Cas nodded.

“Yes. I’m not watching you die because of me.” He tilted his head back, baring his throat. “Just do it.” He closed his eyes. “Father, forgive me, one last time.” he prayed silently. Dean took a deep breath. With an apologetic look, he sliced across the exposed skin, just deep enough to release the angels Grace, which he collected in the vial. After putting pressure on the small wound, he stoppered the vial and tried to hand it to Cas, who shook his head. The former angel opened his mouth to explain...but no sound came out. He tried again. And again. Not even a whisper. He was mute. Well, now they knew. With his Grace and his Angelic Voice, his human one had been taken as well. It was a small price to pay, well worth it for his life and those of the Winchesters. Eyes wide, Dean and Sam both looked at him with pity and sadness at this new development. He didn’t want, or need their pity. He needed them to understand. To know he was okay with this, as long as they were safe.

“Oh,Cas…”Dean whispered. Sam was silent, his eyes saying all, Saying how sorry he was. How this, too, was his fault. Cas moved to where Sam stood, and cupped the hunters chin in his hand, making Sam look at him. He shook his head. ‘This is not on you. I chose this’ his eyes said. Sam nodded, not truly believing it. Cas hugged the shaggy haired man gently. One day, he’d be better able to explain to the gentle giant. Returning to the older hunter, Cas pressed Deans hand that held the vial to his own heart, and then to the hunters flannel covered one. The message here was clear. Dean would hold on to his Grace for safekeeping, as he already had keeping of Cas heart. Dean smiled, putting his own hand over Cas where it rested on the plaid covered chest. He squeezed. Cas smiled at him.

“Ok, but only until things change. Once all angels are free again, the Grace is yours. My heart...is yours forever. It has been, for a long time now.” Dean murmured, too low for Sam to hear. Cas nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He was hopeful that someday, somehow, he and his brothers would be free. That he and the Winchesters could make that happen. That love would find a way.

_________________________________________

Thankfully, the Men of Letters assumed the worst when Cas Grace vanished from their radar, and sent only a single investigator to the Bunker two days later. There he found funeral in progress. Around the wrists of the well wrapped body on the pyre were silver cuffs with red glowing runes. ‘Clarence’ had been slain by his owners for disobedience and attempted escape, after the incident in the store. A full report was made to the Brits, who accepted it without question. The funeral was attended only by Sam and Dean, the investigator, and a blond haired, blue eyed, flannel clad hunter named Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go...finally. Unless I decide to do an epilogue someday...

**Author's Note:**

> Here be the usual non-ownership disclaimer...


End file.
